I acknowledge that most of our human species evolved from slime—take note to the trigger word, most. For some reason, some individuals claiming identity with the Homo sapiens cannot be classified as such. Enter a particular ex of mine. This one was quite sneaky in masking his sub-humanness (that is totally a word by the way). Dimples and stubble were a nice touch, but the thing that tricked me was the powerful Polo cologne that clouded my senses with each encounter. I never believed in aphrodisiacs…until this one came along. If I could be blind enough to form a relationship with a slime-ball that mush have been some powerful shit.
Now, I was fooled for quite awhile. We split ways after I found out that the slime had found another lesser species while we were together. The more I reflect on it, I find that the two are actually a good match; after all, by laws of attraction, this one would naturally seek out another imposter—another shithead if you will. Before we split, I should have recognized the signs of the slime. A huge warning alert should have sounded after one particular incident.
One evening I was drunk on his crazy powerful cologne. With my inhibitions dangerously low, we began to…relate with each other. Know that I think that it is truly an amazing occurrence when just one thing can cause someone to instantly sober up to her senses. In this case, only a simple phrase evoked that sickening sensation to soberness. There was a drawn pause before this exact phrase: “Can I touch the danger zone?” No, Maverick, you may not. It should have been over right there. I mean, who does that?
